


(Could have been) great

by Lleu



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Oral Sex, Talking, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lleu/pseuds/Lleu
Summary: Once things settle down, Jake and Nate have a conversation about “family” and “forgiveness”.





	(Could have been) great

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



> thanks to my erstwhile vice-president-we-think for her helpful comments. and thanks to smaragdbird for forcing me to _finish_ a Nate/Jake fic — I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Later, because it’s a while before Nate’s injuries heal; Jake doesn’t quite register until later that that’s what he was waiting for — this is the first time in a month that he’s been able to breathe without what feels like five hundred suits looking over his shoulder, and his mind is still catching up with itself. For that matter, Jake’s a little banged up, too, after crash-landing from about a mile up in a miniature Jaeger. (“Scrapper’s exactly the size she’s supposed to be!” Amara won’t stop saying to anyone and everyone who’s even _vaguely_ involved in rebuilding her; Liwen feigns exasperation.)

So: later. After the medical examinations (Jake is pleased to learn he _doesn’t_ have a concussion), after the press conferences. After the funeral for Suresh.

They’re back — of course — in the kitchen, which is where these things always seem to go down. (It’s where things first went off the rails back in the day, too — but he pushes that out of his mind.) Nate’s there first, this time. _Waiting for me_ , Jake thinks; the smirk must have shown on his face, because Nate frowns and asks, “What?”

“‘ _Could’ve been_ great’, huh?” Jake says. Nate bristles for a second, automatically, before he realizes Jake’s teasing.

“Well,” he says; he sounds almost embarrassed. It’s cute. Makes him look like the awkward teen he used to be, instead of the uptight (Amara’s word comes back to him suddenly) _haircut_ he’s become.

“Hey,” Jake says. “No worries.”

Nate shakes his head. “Still, I…” He sighs. “Sorry.”

Jake gives him a few seconds in case he wants to say anything else; when it looks like Nate can’t find the words, though, he says what he came here to say: “Did you mean what you said, earlier? All that stuff about ‘family’ and ‘forgiveness’.”

Nate looks at him, serious now. “Yeah.”

Jake opens his mouth but finds himself suddenly at a loss for words. Fortunately, Nate seems to have found his tongue now.

“You know, after you left, there was a while when Mako was the only one who’d talk to me.” Jake’s surprise must show on his face, because Nate smiles, more bitterly than Jake is used to seeing. “This was before…my last partner…joined the program.“

 _That’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about_ , Jake thinks, but he knows better than to interrupt.

“People were saying I was, I don’t know, cursed. Jinxed. Whatever.” Now Nate’s frowning, remembering. “I probably didn’t help that much. Didn’t talk to anyone, not even my psych evaluator. I just sat in our meetings and didn’t say anything. Probably would have gotten myself washed out of the program, too, if I’d kept it up much longer.”

Jake wants, suddenly, to hug Nate, keep him safe. He takes half a step forward before he catches himself. Nate doesn’t seem to notice; he’s busy staring at the floor.

“But your sister…” Nate looks up, suddenly, and he’s smiling — still not unadulterated joy, but he’s sad, now, not bitter, which is (just barely) an improvement, Jake thinks. “She was the only one who really understood, I think. Your dad wouldn’t let her be a pilot, for starters, so she knew what it was like to _know_ you could do it and be denied the opportunity.”

“Hey,” Jake says. “Look, about that.”

“Forgiveness, remember?” Nate says. “What’s past is past.”

“Still,” Jake says, a little uneasily.

“Ah, come here —” and suddenly _Nate_ is pulling _him_ into a hug? It lasts slightly longer than a bro-hug normally would; Jake’s arms remember the way these used to work, the way their bodies fit together. Finally Nate lets him go. “We’re good.”

“Good.”

Nate looks him right in the eyes for a long moment; it’s a little disconcerting. “Mako missed you. And I think…” He pauses, maybe picking his words, but more likely, Jake thinks, trying to keep his voice under control; there’s a lump in Jake’s throat now. “She was the only one who really saw how much I missed you, because she missed you, too. The night after you…left…she showed up at my door with a bunch of takeout sushi she’d ordered in from town, and some terrible movie. I can’t remember what it was now. Just that—” His voice breaks a little. “She always made me feel like one of the family.”

Having hugged once, Jake’s pretty sure it’ll be okay if he does it again, so he reaches out and puts his arms around Nate, pulling him in close. Nate leans into him.

“I’m sorry,” Nate says. “She was _your_ sister. I shouldn’t be making this about me.”

“It’s okay,” Jake says. They’re silent for a long moment, then he continues, swallowing against the now very uncomfortable lump in his throat: “I didn’t know.” He blinks a few times; if he starts crying now, it will _not_ be a single manly tear rolling down his cheek.

“She did the same thing when Burke left,” Nate says. “I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. I was…” He shrugs uncomfortably; Jake just nods. He knows what it felt like when _he_ left. He can only imagine what it would feel like to be the one _being_ left. Twice. “And then Mako Mori showed up at my door with pizza.” He pulls back, then, just a foot or so, one arm still on Jake’s left shoulder, the other gripping Jake’s right bicep. “Then she brought you back.”

“Well, _technically_ ,” Jake says, then stops. “You know what, I don’t know _what_ ‘technically’. You could say it was Amara. Or me. Or, yeah, I guess Mako. So what the hell, let’s say Mako.”

Nate laughs, letting go of Jake, then says, “The point is, she always made me feel like I belonged. Here in the program, and just” — he waves his hand vaguely — “in general.”

Jake blinks, again, against the tears welling up in his eyes. They stand in silence for a while; Jake wonders what else Mako did that he never knew about.

“God, I missed you,” Nate says, unexpectedly, and this time when Jake blinks it’s in surprise. “I missed _us_. We were a good team — could’ve been a great one. I was. Really fucked up after you left. Burke helped, but…. It wasn’t the same. I tried to tell myself I didn’t care, but…” He shrugs helplessly. “Anyway. I just wanted to get that out there. I’ll leave you to your ice cream.”

He turns to leave, but Jake reaches out to grab his arm. “Hey.” Nate stops and looks at him. “I…” _Damn_. He’s usually more articulate than this, but now he’s fumbling for words. “Look, I spent a long time trying to forget everything about this. Who I was, where I came from. My family. My…friends.” The word isn’t quite right, but it’ll have to do. “When Mako blackmailed me into coming back, and I got here, I almost believed it. But then… I guess almost dying saving the world gives you some perspective.”

Nate nods, his mouth twisted into a wry smile.

“The point is,” Jake says, “if you still feel…like back then. We could try again. Start fresh.”

“I’d like that,” Nate says. He takes a step closer to Jake. Only a few inches between them now. Like the old days, when personal space didn’t mean anything because they had the drift. It’s so easy to fall back into the same habits. _Ten years and it hasn’t changed at all_ , Jake thinks, and half-instinctively he reaches for the drift between them — except it’s not there. _Everything’s changed_. But there are other ways to connect. So he takes a step forward, his body and Nate’s pressed close, now.

He tilts his head, his right hand coming to rest at Nate’s waist, asking an old question. Nate answers the same way he used to.

*

Later. It’s been a long time since their drift connection was strong — since they had that lingering post-drift awareness of each other, body and mind — but he can still read Nate like a book, which it turns out makes for very good sex even by Jake’s (high) standards. (It was okay the first time around, too, but ten years — and no longer being stupid eighteen-year-olds — makes a big difference, apparently.)

They’re naked, and hard, and sweating. Nate’s hair is a mess from Jake’s fingers tangling in it (who the fuck taught him to give head like that?), and now Jake’s returning the favor, running his tongue around the head of Nate’s dick, savoring the hint of salty precum he gets as a reward. One of his hands is braced against the mattress, supporting him; the other is on Nate’s thigh, one finger drifting, slowly, down below his balls. They never _quite_ went there, before; this time, too, Nate stops him with a hand under Jake’s chin, drawing Jake up until they’re face to face again.

“Next time,” he says. Jake raises an eyebrow. “No need to rush,” Nate clarifies. “I’ve waited ten years for this, and I don’t want to spoil it.”

“If you say so,” Jake says, and Nate pulls him, smiling, into a kiss.

*

Later, again.

“You’re pretty good, Nate,” Jake says. If the PPDC would invest in bigger beds, they’d be sprawled nicely side by side in Nate’s. As it is, they’re lying almost on top of each other, arms and legs overlapping.

“‘Pretty good’?” Nate says, but when Jake turns to look at him, he’s smiling that winning, _sexy_ smile. _Fuck_. “Seemed like I was more than just ‘pretty good’, from all the noise you were making.”

Jake rolls his eyes, and Nate laughs.

*

Later, when Jake — a little surprised to be doing so — wakes up.

“Hey.” Of course Nate’s already awake and dressed. Looks like he showered, too. _Fuck morning people_. “I found something for you.”

Jake blinks, his eyes bleary still. “Hm?”

“Here,” Nate says, pushing Jake (gently) out of the way so he can sit down on the edge of the bed. Jake grumbles but sits up so he can look at what Nate’s holding. It’s a screen, with a picture on it, of…the three of them? Him, Nate, and Mako.

“Holy shit,” Jake says, suddenly wide awake.

“Right?” Nate says. “It’s from that time you convinced Chuck Hansen” — and _that’s_ a whole other kettle of fucked up Australian fish that Jake’s not ready to deal with right now — “to drive out to the waterfall with us. She made him take a picture for us. I’d forgotten I had it, until…” He passes the picture to Jake. They’re standing in front of a waterfall, leaning against the safety railing overlooking the water, Jake in the middle, Mako on his left, Nate on his right. They’re all laughing, clearly at something _very funny_ Jake’s just said, because he’s the only one looking at Chuck taking the picture; Nate’s looking at him, and Mako’s rolling her eyes.

He feels a drop of water on his thumb and realizes he’s crying.

“Hey,” Nate says, putting an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. “Hey.” Jake doesn’t answer him for a while, and Nate doesn’t press. When he’s regained his composure, Nate says, “You can have it, if you want.”

“Nah,” Jake says, and sighs. “You should keep it. It’s not like I don’t have family photos.” Nate looks like he’s about to protest, so Jake cuts him off: “Besides, you’re not planning on going anywhere, right? So if I want to see it, I’ll just…come see it.”

“That’s assuming you’re welcome, Ranger Pentecost,” Nate says, very formally.

“Oh, _bullshit_ ,” Jake says, rolling his eyes. “You know you can’t get enough of me. I’m fucking _charming_! And besides, I’m not the only one who was making some noise last night.”

To his credit, Nate manages to hold the straight-faced glare for almost five seconds before he bursts out laughing.


End file.
